Die Wolf
by Tiger Tank
Summary: Short scribble. Part of a larger project I'm not sure I should pursue. Rated M for Mature, since the Halo games and other related fiction are rated "M" as well.


**Disclaimer**: Bungie owns the Halo franchise. Not me. I only own this story and certain elements of the story (e.g.: non-Halo-canonical characters, technical specifics (or techno-babble)..._et cetera_). However, other elements were inspired by outside sources. Please do not sue the author, as this piece of fan-fiction is intended solely for private entertainment purposes only, and is _not_ to be used to gain any profit, whatsoever. Plus, the author is feckin' poor as hell. Any unauthorized reproduction or modification of this piece-of-crap-fanfic is strongly discouraged. This piece of fan fiction may contain explicit content that may not be suitable for minors nor immature readers - and may not be legal for people of certain ages to view, within certain counties or states. If you're either a pansy or you're underage or immature, I suggest you hit the "Back" button on your internet browser.

**tl;dr**: Bungie owns _Halo_. Author essentially owns the rest in this story. Please don't sue. Don't be a thieving douche. And don't be a wimp. If you can't understand some of the big words I'm using, you're too damned stupid or young to be reading this. GTFO my innernets.

**Author's Notes**: This is just one story (read: "_crap_") out of a collection of short stories (also read as: "_crap"_) I felt like writing at the spur of the moment.

_Die Wolf_

**Gael Airfield, UNSC Colony Paris IV  
2549, Military Calendar**

Wiping her damp hands on the legs of her rumpled flightsuit, Captain Grace "Gray" Budanova trotted across the tarmac, her sidearm strapped to her thigh, with flight harness and helmet in hand. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the stiff breeze that had persisted for most of the day. As the shorthaired captain fumbled to don the vest, Grace failed to notice a gaggle of local Air Force security personnel eyeing her appreciatively, the fair-haired woman's mind fixed on other things: one of which was the sleek, deadly, camouflage-patterned AH-50D "_Akula_" parked on the tarmac.

The gunship was nearly finished being refueled and rearmed under the watchful eye of the chief mechanic, who was shielding his eyes from the slowly retreating sun. The _Akula_'s outer missile racks were being loaded with air-to-air missiles for self-defense, whilst a pair of rocket pods occupied the pylons closest to the fuselage. Without preamble, the voluptuous young woman tapped the back of the taller man's shoulder, and he turned to salute the captain.

'She's almost ready, Cap,' the mechanic reported. His subordinates were busy putting action to words, loading up munitions and removing the pins. ''Just waiting on your pre-flight inspection.' Budanova snapped off her own parade-ground salute and smiled.

'Thanks, Kev,' she said as the mechanic, his nametag identifying him as "K. CARTER," handed her a clipboard. She scrutinized every section of the forms, fatigue assailing her senses.

Since making planet-fall with the rest of the _Leviathan_ task force, she'd spent the past eighteen hours running close-air-support missions over the colony. In a strange twist of events, the Covenant had failed to glass the colony of Paris IV right off the bat. Instead, they'd landed ground troops and armor, inflicting and incurring heavy casualties as they swept across the continent, attacking human settlements wherever they were encountered; whatever the reason for the Covenant's current aberrance, the UNSC terrestrial forces ran interference while the Navy evacuated the civilians via the Cherbourg Space Elevator Facility.

The captain nodded to Carter. 'Thank the rest of the pit crew for me, will ya? You're all doing great.'

The mechanic shrugged, 'just doin' our jobs. 'Sides, if it weren't for the Gray Wolf, there'd be a lot more of the gropos and civvies dying out there.' The reference to Budanova's nickname elicited a small smile from the captain. Many of the other gunship pilots she'd served with over the past months had gossiped in the manner that soldiers often did. This resulted in what she felt was an increasingly undeserved, overblown reputation for unparalleled skill. _Take down a couple of Banshees, and suddenly people think you're some kind of ace pilot_, the young woman inwardly rolled her eyes as she inspected her gunship.

'I'm not sure about that,' Grace replied as she finished the inspection and signed off on the forms. As she handed the clipboard back to Carter, she affectionately patted the fuselage of her gunship. Her hand rested near the subdued, gray silhouette of a stylized wolf's head. 'I can't take all the credit, after all.'

'Maybe you should.' The mechanic made a show of looking over her signatures, although his eyes strayed away from the paperwork, from time to time. Budanova pretended not to notice as she donned her flight gloves and night-vision-equipped flight helmet. 'You could be famous – write some memoirs, maybe even get an acting career. Like what Audie Murphy did.' He looked up with a lopsided grin on his face, 'you've got the looks for it, too. Just remember us little people who helped you, along the way.'

'Yeah,' Grace riposted, 'I'll remember you as the horny mechanic who kept trying to get into my flight suit.'

'So that's a "no", then?'

Grace laughed it off – she knew he was just pulling her leg. 'Try buying me dinner, sometime,' she teased as she began her ascent into the heavily armored cockpit, 'that might make a good impression.'

'So I can be remembered as a doormat?' As Budanova clambered up the stepladder, Carter snorted derisively while furtively admiring her derrière. 'Uh-uh. I'd rather be remembered as the notorious lecher you kept shooting down.'

'Cheapskate,' Budanova accused with a smile, as she seated herself and began strapping into the ejection seat.

'I won't buy you dinner, but you're welcome to join us for some hot chow, anyway!'

'Sounds lovely,' Grace replied with a flippant grin, double-checking her restraints. She waited until Carter indicated that her ground crew was clear. As she spooled up the engines, she gave the chief mechanic a thumbs-up, before lowering the polarized visor in her helmet. Carter returned the gesture and hurried away as the turboshaft engines spooled up.

Budanova knew from experience that the co-axial rotor design of her gunship made it quieter than other helicopter designs that had been far more widespread in the past, but she still marveled at how quiet it was. Instead of the characteristic thumping of fast-moving air currents slapping against one another, her gunship's rotors whispered as they cut through the air. Budanova ran through the take-off checklist, activating her Identification-Friend-or-Foe beacon and hooking her helmet's multi-function Heads-Up-Display up with the gunship's systems. A plethora of information became accessible to her – during training, the influx of information had been dangerously disorienting, but the captain was well past that phase. With a few blinks of her eyes, she opened a radio channel without having to move her hands from the stick and throttle.

'Gael Control, Gael Control--this is Tiger-Two-Five conducting radio check. How do you read?'

'_Gael Control--we hear you loud and clear, Tiger-Two-Five. Over._'

For a moment, the pilot and the air traffic controller quickly confirmed each other's identities, exchanging security and authentication codes, which were typically updated on a daily basis. Once that had been dealt with, Budanova was given permission for take-off.

The speedy _Akula _leapt into the air and Budanova ascended to fifteen-hundred meters, as the air-traffic controller gave her vectors that had her flying over Cherbourg. The mega-city sprawled for kilometers from the base of the massive orbital elevator.

To Grace's astonishment and horror, either the automated light systems were kicking in, or the civilian authorities in Cherbourg weren't observing light discipline. However, the buildings on the outlying streets remained dark, the facades briefly illuminated by the strobe-like flashes of discharging munitions. Budanova continued to close in with the navigation marker in her helmet's HUD.

'_Tiger-Two-Five, be advised_,' the controller warned,_ 'hostiles have Wraith mortars and anti-aircraft artillery, and hostile aircraft are in the airspace over your objective. Friendlies are also in the area, so check your targets. Over._' Budanova swallowed nervously as she activated her visor's night-vision feature, the world around her suddenly tinged green.

'Two-Five acknowledges,' the captain replied, 'awaiting targeting instructions. Over.' Budanova took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Dealing with Covenant Banshees while providing close air support over a city was one thing – doing so at night was another feat, entirely.

'_Stand by, Tiger-Two-Five. We're patching you through to Dog Troop._'

The young captain fought to rein in her feelings of unease; she had done night operations before, but those had been against a handful of rag-tag insurrectionists who couldn't hit the broad side of a hangar, let alone deploy air assets. In addition, it had taken Budanova every iota of skill to shoot down the two Covenant Banshees, whose pilots had evidently been hoping for an easy kill, and that had been during a daytime operation over a forested area.

A young man's voice intruded on Budanova's thoughts, his tone calm and collected despite the din in the background. The young captain thought she heard a British accent. '_This is Dog-Five. Come in, Tiger-Two-Five._' The navigation marker disappeared, replaced by a small marker denoting Dog Troop's position on Grace's HUD. A few other friendly icons popped up in her vision, as her computer picked up the IFF signals from individual friendly vehicles.

'Tiger-Two-Five, here--'got a fix on your position. What can I do you for, Dog-Five?' Grace performed a sideways orientation run – possible only with the co-axial rotors of her gunship. No other UNSC craft would have been capable of even attempting the maneuver. She could see the flashing strobes of friendly ground forces in the streets; the strobes were only visible in the infrared spectrum, and thus only visible to someone equipped with thermal vision and/or night vision.

'_Well, we happen to have Wraith mortars giving us a hard time at the moment._' As if to reinforce his statement, a loud explosion interrupted Dog-Five. The man barked a series of orders, ostensibly directed at his subordinates, before continuing, '_Tiger-Two-Five, we're sending the target coordinates to you. Be a dear and knock those mortars out for us, won't you?_' Someone in the troop uploaded the coordinates to her, and the gunship's computers automatically updated her HUD. There were two positions where the Covenant's artillery batteries were likely to be located. The blue-white comets emanating from those spots all but confirmed it.

'Coordinates received, Tiger-Two-Five moving in to attack.' Without waiting for a reply, Budanova suited action to words. The _Akula_ moved at a tangential angle, relative to the nearest battery, to minimize the chance of being hit by ground fire. It didn't take too long until she caught sight of the positively glowing, beetle-like hulls of the Wraiths. Advanced technology or not, most Covenant technology gave off a lot of heat that could be picked up on infrared.

Budanova entered a spiraling orbit as she kept the gunship's nose pointed at the battery. White-hot fuel rods fired from the anti-air wraiths lanced out at her, but the agile _Akula_ evaded the projectiles with ease. Many of the fuel rods detonated after missing her. Maneuvering to center her HUD's pipper on the nearest anti-air Wraith, the side-mounted auto-cannon shifted adjusted slightly as she depressed the trigger.

Thunderous cannon fire vibrated the canopy glass, as the thirty-millimeter M300 gun spat a lethal salvo of hot-dog-sized rounds at the target. The captain continued her wild "death-spiral", pouring deadly accurate fire into the tough armor of the anti-air Wraith before it exploded. Without missing a beat, Grace acquired her next victim and lined up for a shot. Holding steady, she launched an unguided rocket and dodged another salvo of incoming fire.

The anti-tank projectile streaked toward the anti-air Wraith and slammed into it, the multipurpose, tandem-charge HEAT warhead tearing a hole through the thinner top armor of the self-propelled gun and killing the gunner; the driver was pulverized in the crew compartment.

Once she confirmed the kill, Grace acquired one of the Wraith mortars and loosed another rocket, before yawing to engage another tank in the battery with her auto-cannon. She fired at the poorly armored rear of the Wraith, causing the plasma drives to overload and detonate, gutting the craft and vaporizing the crew in the ensuing explosion.

'Tiger-Two-Five—splash two triple-A guns and two mortars, Dog-Five.'

'_Confirmed, Two-Five,'_ Dog-Five replied after a moment. Gunfire crackled in the background over the transmission. _'That should be it; move on to the next battery. Keep up the good work. Out.'_

Abruptly, her helicopter juddered, just as she took out another Wraith mortar. Budanova instinctively wheeled the _Akula_ around to face the hostile. Frantically, she searched the skies until…

_Shit! A Banshee!_

Her stomach turned to ice as she realized that her attacker was not alone. Budanova broke off her orbit and dodged a fuel rod. A little voice in the back of her mind gibbered nonsensibly as she locked onto the lead Banshee and fired off a couple of air-to-air missiles. The Covenant pilot had little time to react, attempting to roll out of the way before the sensor fuses in the warheads detonated, taking off one of the Banshee's thruster outriggers.

Grace knew that wouldn't have been enough to shoot down a Banshee – the alien ships were unbelievably robust, inexplicably capable of flight even when both the "wings" had been reduced to snarled strips of alien alloys. Thus, she jinked her gunship and loosed a volley of cannon fire at the Covenant fighter, avoiding the wingman's plasma cannons at the same time.

The damaged Banshee almost avoided the cannon rounds, but it burst into flame and literally began to fall apart under the hail of fire. Then a stray fuel rod hit the stricken craft, blowing it apart. The canopy separated from the surprisingly intact fuselage, and the alien pilot flailed almost comically as it plummeted to its inevitable demise.

While this happened, the downed Covenant pilot's wingman flew past Budanova, the Banshee's thrusters blazing. The captain turned the gunship around in mid-air and acquired the alien craft. Just as she loosed a burst of cannon fire, the ship executed an impossibly tight roll to the left. Grace sighed explosively and turned her gunship to reacquire the Banshee. Just as she acquired it, the alien fighter boosted away out of missile range and out of the area.

Budanova swore aloud before wrestling her attention back to the batteries on the ground; they wouldn't be going anywhere. Burning up fuel, chasing after a fighter wasn't a good idea, either – while the _Akula_ was capable of engaging airborne targets, it wasn't an air-superiority fighter.

_Better finish this up and bug out_, thought Grace as she made for the second battery. As she swooped in, the captain gratefully noted that this battery was just as small as the last. She used more rockets on the anti-air Wraiths before flanking and gunning down the Wraith mortars.

'Tiger-Two-Five—second battery eliminated. Returning to base to re-arm and refuel,' Budanova radioed.

'_Dog-Five copies all—many thanks, Two-Five. Bloody good show!'_

Grace gave a weary sigh as she nosed her gunship back towards Gael airfield, indulging in the fantasies of hot food, a shower, and a nice warm bunk waiting for her back at the base. Just as she made it over the darkened edge of the city, an urgent radio transmission from Dog-Five interrupted her thoughts.

'_Tiger-Two-Five, Tiger-Two-Five—you've a hostile on your tail! Take eva--!'_ Sluggish from fatigue, Grace was unable to react in time. A Banshee swooped in from above, raking Budanova's gunship with a hail of plasma bolts, before delivering a coup-de-grace to the co-axial rotors' shaft. The turboshaft engines screamed behind her, cockpit alarms blared, and the _Akula_ plummeted like a stone to the city streets, below.

The last thing Grace experienced was the spine-jarring impact of the crash, before being plunged into unfeeling darkness.

_To be continued?_

Additional Notes: This takes place within a project I'm working on, but I'm not sure if I should continue. If I do, I'm likely to put up with a lot of crap from fantards who will "hurr durr" and claim that I copied "Prototype" from _Halo Legends_. But I must say that I've been working on this project since (at the very _least_) early 2007. Plus, my depiction will be far less "WEEABOO ANIMU MECHA BEAMSPAM FIGHTAN" and more "GRITTY REALISM WITH BROWN AND BLOOM." I'm more a fan of the more plausible mecha shows like _Armored Trooper VOTOMS_, rather than _Gundam_ and other assorted silliness (even though I did, and still do, enjoy most of the series which take place in the Universal Century). I'm something of a stickler for realism--the more plausible something is, the more I can get into it and enjoy it.

If anybody cares what I thought of "Prototype", I thought it was typical "WEEABOO ANIMU MECHA BEAMSPAM FIGHTAN." The acrobatics were just plain silly, the jetpack was ridiculous, and the energy shield was utterly ludicrous. I found the armaments to be OK, except for that ridiculous mine that the pilot jammed into the Wraith's armored side. Or, rather, I find mechs with individually articulated fingers (in other words, human-like hands) to be utterly implausible.

At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this little shitscribble. There's bound to be more to come as I think of them. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

~Tiger Tank


End file.
